


A Lack of Color

by BaredWolf



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Dream Sex, Emotional Infidelity, F/M, New Caprica, Pre-Cylon occupation, no actual infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaredWolf/pseuds/BaredWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On New Caprica, Kara has to figure out how to live with herself and the dream she can't escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lack of Color

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Death Cab for Cutie's _A Lack of Color_. I'd recommend that song as a soundtrack to this fic.
> 
> See end notes for warnings.

It was quiet out here, Kara's breath forming harsh little clouds in the morning air. The world was blanketed in a thick layer of snow that dulled everything to sameness. Dulled it to senselessness: the snow absorbing sound and reflecting blinding light, the cold leaving no humidity to bear scent and numbing her skin. The settlement still slept behind her, but just a klick beyond its borders she had found a void of whiteness.

It should be exactly what she had come in search of, finally a moment of utter peace. She could hear nothing, see nothing, smell nothing: why couldn't she feel nothing? But instead, it only made Kara feel like screaming, like kicking at the snow or doing anything in her power to disrupt the numbness of this landscape. Because she had no access to that numbness, nothing that could hollow her out the way she needed it to. Make her empty the way the pain and adrenaline of a good fight always did, blunting the edge that liquor never dulled and letting her continue a little while longer. 

She wasn't sure when she had finally recognized her problem for what it was: a race she would never win. A fight where no one would throw the first punch. But now it wouldn't leave her alone, looming larger than the Cylons ever had, worse than the fear that the toasters would find them, would come stomping through the mud, ignoring the way it splashed up onto their undercarriage. That, there, at least there was something to be felt. Adrenaline and fear and dirt dulling the relentless shine of chrome, nature itself fraking with them all. 

Nature was fraking with her here, just as surely. The whole universe was probably in on it, the gods laughing at the cosmic joke that was Kara Thrace's life. Her body shivered, shaking hard, and she realized she couldn't feel her fingers anymore, the cold that had borne this freak snowstorm finally catching up to her. 

The quiet pressed on her eardrums and her whole body ached for the wild vibrations and g-forces of a good dogfight. Give her a bird and she could fly and fight until she was sweating and bruised and breathless; until this aching wore off. But she would still have no idea what to do about Lee Adama.

* * *

When she arrived back in the city, Sam was just waking up, groaning as he sat at the edge of their bed in the dim tent. Still bleary, he pulled her into a hug that should have felt like forgiveness she didn't deserve but instead felt like blame. It made her ache more, the cold settling into her bones.

She had tried. Tried to avoid it, provoked him into a fight so he would be recklessly rough when he finally fraked her last night. She had shadowy fingerprint shaped bruises on her hips to prove her success. They hurt when she pressed on them. But not enough. Because it hadn't been enough, the dream had come anyways and she couldn't figure out how to make it stop. 

* * *

In her dream, she was back in her apartment in Caprica City (the old one, the one that hadn't really been home except for when it was) and they were painting her wall.

Lee, and her, painting with their hands, dipping their fingers into the vibrantly hued pots. Weaving together a story with nothing to guide them yet somehow their individual work is coalescing into a joint whole. Both of them are clad in nothing more than brightly colored streaks of paint and she has never felt so free. Their laughter clings to the dust motes floating in the sunlight streaking the room. 

The paint is in her hair, and a smudge of blue on Lee's cheekbone is making the blue of his eyes even sharper than usual.  She wonders vaguely if the paint will ever wash out of her hair, but frak it if it doesn't, she'll just chop it off. Again. Lee's fingers smear more of it in there, probably bright yellow this time but maybe orange like flames as he pulls her in for a kiss, her palm on his cheek, his body pressing hers against their designs on the wall. They tumble together to the floor in a chaotic riot of smeared pigments.

Her hand is coated in red and it leaves streaks across his chest as she straddles him, his hands holding her hips with the colors of flame and guiding them together, breathing together and the floor should be cold against her knees but the world is warm and soft and she feels so loved. Their hands move against her body and when she looks down she sees his call sign inscribed on her skin, the paint smeared into the characters. 

His eyes soften as he sees the letters, fingers running over them and they glow softly in the sunlight. He is pulling her close so their bodies are pressed together, the word pressed against his skin, whispering against her lips. _You are mine as I am yours._ She repeats his words back to him, her chest swelling with the joy of the moment as she feels him everywhere, against and around and inside of her. And when they part, breathing slipping into sync once more, she sees her own name on his skin but the paint has changed. The pigment is under their skin now, the vivid marks indelible and she will never be freed from this, never be free of Lee, and her body shudders as she comes. 

The sheets in her fists were too soft as her hips rocked against nothingness. Her helpless whimper was condemnation in the darkness. Next to her, Sam did not stir.  

* * *

Sam mumbled a _good morning_ as he let go of her, the scent of sleep still clinging to his skin. She shrugged out of her jacket, its brown and the olive tones of the tent blending to a uniform flat grey in the dim light.

"It snowed?" Sam said, poking his head outside for a moment, the blinding sunlight reflecting off of the snow momentarily obscuring their dwelling. The powder on the main thoroughfare remained largely undisturbed, only a few other sets of footprints joining Kara's, but it would be churned to brown muck in a few hours time as the city awoke and began its daily routine. 

"It's been getting colder at night. We need more permanent structures," Kara replied. Their fight, like all of the ones before, was forgotten already. It was like pounding a fist against a rock wall: the wall never noticed, never moved. Streaks of red against dull grey.

Anders hummed in agreement as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, lips at her neck. She leaned back into him, feeling the bruises on her hips again as his hand slid down her arm, fingers over the black ink of the tattoo that matched his. 

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for emotional infidelity (but no actual infidelity), Kara's low self worth, and Kara emotionally manipulating Sam so he would be rough with her.


End file.
